Thanks for Giving: A Bat-Family Thanksgiving Story
by ImaginIsa
Summary: Most people would find it weird to be invited to a dinner at their own house. Bruce had simply done weirder. "Your presence is requested sharply at 5 o'clock this Thursday November 24, for the first annual Wayne Family Thanksgiving. Formal dress is required." There was no signature, but Bruce was pretty sure who it was. Why they were insisting on formal dress was beyond him, thou


Thanks and Giving

The weird thing was that it wasn't weird.

Sure it was a new experience but it didn't actually feel weird.

 _Although_ , Bruce Wayne mused as he looked at the invitation written in neat calligraphy. _Most people would find it weird to be invited to a dinner at their own house._ Bruce had simply done weirder.

 **"Your presence is requested sharply at 5 o'clock this Thursday November 24, for the first annual Wayne Family Thanksgiving. Formal dress is required."**

There was no signature, but Bruce was pretty sure who it was. Why they were insisting on formal dress was beyond him, though.

* * *

Alfred raised his eyebrows so high they almost disappeared into his hairline. The formal invitation had been accompanied by a typed note with explicit instructions for when Alfred was and was not allowed inside of the kitchen on Thanksgiving.

"I know you're particular about both the fine china and the dining room set-up in general," the note said. "So I leave that in your capable hands but please stay out of the kitchen starting at 10:30 AM. I did extensive research on the people helping me prepare. Your kitchen will be well looked after."

Alfred considered this for several more minutes before shrugging and accepting this. At least he got the dining room.

* * *

That Wednesday, Tim Drake opened the doors to his closet and glared at the contents. Formal wear at Thanksgiving? He had his tux of course but Tim was pretty sure that wasn't what was meant. The internet said an acceptable outfit for a formal Thanksgiving was khakis and a polo shirt or some sort of collared shirt with a vest.

Tim had khakis. That was it.

Common sense told him that wearing the white collared shirt he normally wore with his tux was stupid. So...Tim shrugged and pulled out a blue t-shirt and a blazer. The blazer had been Dick's once so be couldn't really complain if Tim hadn't followed his dress codes.

* * *

At precisely 4:45 pm that Thursday, a black motorcycle roared to a stop in front of the Wayne Mansion. The figure on the back removed his red motorcycle helmet and shook out a mane of black hair with a silver streak. Jason Todd scowled at the front door.

"What am I doing here?" He muttered.

He'd been surprised to get the invitation and more than a little annoyed that it had been slipped under his front door which meant _everyone_ must know where he lived. He really hoped Dick had delivered it himself cause if he had sent The Replacement or the Demon-Brat to do it Jason was going to have a few words with his surrogate older brother. It was only the thought of Dickie-bird giving everyone sad puppy-dog eyes if Jason _didn't_ show up that had gotten Jason into his not-actually-formal-wear and to the House. But that wasn't quite enough to get him through the front door.

What even was this Thanksgiving going to look like? Barbara wasn't even here to temper the collective mess of all the boys cause she always spent Thanksgiving in New York with her grandparents. The last time there had been a group Thanksgiving, Dick was still mad at Bruce and Jason had been a brand new Robin. But Dick had managed to store his frustration to have a good dinner – a small turkey, some mashed potatoes and gravy, nothing _too_ fancy – just the three of them and they had rounded off the day with a lively training session to make room for dessert. It had been small, quick and that day was one of Jason's happiest memories.

But that had been before the Joker. Before The Replacement and the Demon-Brat. Before...

The smooth purring of a well-tuned engine interrupted Jason's increasingly darker thoughts and he couldn't help but admire the grey BMW that pulled into the driveway. It was expensive without looking flashy and Jason's well-trained eyes could tell the windows were bullet proof. Not a bad idea in Gotham. The driver parked and that-kid-The-Replacement-Tim-Drake-Red-Robin exited his car, a small frown as he looked up at the manor with the same hesitation that Jason was feeling. Then The Replacement looked at him.

"Jason?" The younger boy asked cautiously. "You came?"

Jason had meant to reply with. _"And I'm leaving."_ But what actually came out was, "You think I'm going to pass up a free feast?"

Red Robin gave him a hesitant smile and added, "Also, Dick might kill us if we don't show."

Jason almost laughed. Almost.

Both of them looked down the road with surprise as they heard the roar of another motorcycle and in true Nightwing style, a dark blue motorcycle practically flew into the driveway to park cleanly between the car and other motorcycle.

"Hey, guys!" Said Dick as he pulled off his helmet and shed his biker jacket to reveal an expensive silk shirt that Jason had never seen before in his life. "Wow, you both came!"

Dick pulled That Kid into a hug and then turned towards Jason. Jason replied with a glare and Dick contended himself with giving him a squeeze on his shoulder. "Come on! It said to be punctual!" And Dick led the way to the front door.

"Dick," said The Replacement suddenly.

"Yeah?"

"Why formal wear? You came on a bike."

Dick shrugged, about to ring the doorbell. "I guess so everything looks nice."

"You guess?" Jason asked blankly. "Wasn't this your idea?"

Dick shook his head. "No - but I really like it!"

"Then whose idea was it?" Jason demanded. He gave That Kid a glare and Red Robin put his hands up in surrender.

"It wasn't me!" He protested.

The doorbell was rung and Alfred opened the door.

"Ah, young masters," he said with a smile. "Good to see you all - and early for once."

Jason was too baffled to respond to the old butler's good-natured jab. "Who was it then? It definitely wasn't Bruce!"

"That is true, this wasn't me," said Bruce Wayne as he calmly walked down the stairs to join them. "I will confess, I thought it was Dick."

"It wasn't me," Dick repeated, exasperated. "I thought it was Alfred."

"I was given strict instructions not to be involved," said Alfred, amused. "And I think it is obvious that the host is-"

"Me," piped a young voice from the top of the stairs.

Dick had to admit, Damien Wayne cleaned up really well. With a black collared shirt and sheer pants, he really did look like a young prince. He could have kicked himself for not realizing Dami has sent the invitations - the whole thing about being punctual had Damien written all over it.

"I'm glad you're all on time," said Dami as he came down. "The food is all ready, I just need to bring it to the table. And no, Pennyworth, I told you I'd take care of it. And no weapons at the table, Todd. Get rid of it."

Jason spluttered. Damien gave him a fixed look even as he finished going down the stairs. Jason sighed and pulled the small revolver from his left boot.

Tim raised an eyebrow.

"Shut up," Jason muttered. He emptied the clip and dumped the whole ensemble into the umbrella stand by the door.

"Happy?" He growled at Dami.

"Yes," said Damien matter-of-factly and led the way to the Dining room. Dick was trying very hard not to laugh.

There was a brief argument in which Alfred wanted to bring out the food and Damien didn't want to let him. But by the time Alfred grudgingly conceded Bruce had already left and come back with a huge bowl of mashed potatoes and Tim and Dick had disappeared to follow his example. Damien hurried to the kitchen, loudly insisting that he was the one who spent the whole day helping cook and therefore he got to bring out the turkey. Jason just busied himself with buttering up a roll.

But even he was visibly impressed when Damien came in struggling under the weight of a magnificent turkey.

Dick' stomach audibly growled and Tim laughed while Damien's normally stoic mask dropped and he beamed over the giant bird.

"Pennyworth gets to slice it cause he's the oldest," Damien announced.

Alfred opened his mouth to protest but closed it again at the identical look Bruce and Damien gave him. The knife was chosen and was just breaking the top level of skin when Bruce stood, his eyes focused on something outside of the large window.

Everyone in the room looked at Bruce and noticed the slight change in posture that could only mean one thing. Five pairs of eyes darted to night sky outside and took in the large bat that was being projected into the dark sky of Gotham.

"Gordon is in New York," said Dick grimly. "They're probably panicking significantly if they're lighting that up."

"I'll be back," said Bruce already halfway across the room.

"No you won't!" Damien burst out.

Bruce was surprised enough to pause and everyone looked at Damien.

"Not fast enough, anyway," Damien muttered.

* * *

Bruce blinked. He'd never gotten this reaction from his youngest son before and, suddenly, he was unsure. The Bat-Symbol gleamed in the air, reminding Bruce that a federal holiday meant that a skeleton crew was at GPD tonight. But there was Damien, glaring at the table and refusing to meet Bruce's eyes. Damien who had spent an entire week planning this dinner.

Dick stood before Bruce could make up his mind.

"Two fight faster than one," he said cheerfully.

"Three," said Jason and Tim in tandem, and then looked thoroughly annoyed.

Damien seemed to have gotten in control of himself and said with his usual briskness. "Five will make it an easy job – come on! The food will get cold if we don't hurry." And he was already halfway down to the Bat Cave, shedding his shirt as he ran.

"I will wait here and keep the food from getting cold," Alfred told the empty room. There was a clatter of Jason fishing his gun from the umbrella stand and Alfred sighed. Then gave the turkey a small frown. He knew why Damien was worried – to keep all of the food warm he would have to be creative.

* * *

Sergeant J. Briggs of the GPD hadn't wanted to be on duty on Thanksgiving night. But he was new and he was unlucky and had ended up on shift. Now he waited nervously by the Bat light, hoping that he hadn't stepped on too many toes when he decided to send up the signal without really consulting anyone – because the first few houses he had tried had told him to only call if people started shooting and had hung up, and Briggs was too scared to call Gordon directly. And…

"Report," said raspy voice behind him.

Briggs let out a little jump and spun around with his gun ready. The huge costumed man behind him merely nodded. "Good instincts. Report."

"Ba…Batman…" stammered the cop. Then he mentally slapped himself and stood up straight, as if he were addressing a superior officer back in the academy. "Sir, there has been a breakout from Arkam."

"Of course there fucking has been," someone complained. Briggs turned to the speaker and almost jumped when he realized that there were actually _four_ people there with The Bat.

"Concentrate," Batman told Briggs, sounding a bit impatient. "Who broke out?"

"Jonathan Crane," said Briggs.

"Scarecrow?" the smallest figure sounded extremely unhappy about this.

"Where is he?" Batman said.

Briggs was barely done giving the coordinates when the whole ensemble was gone. Briggs let out a deep breath and leaned against the light. Yeah, now he really wished he was home for Thanksgiving. He wondered if Batman even _did_ Thanksgiving.

* * *

 _I bet they think Batman doesn't even_ do _Thanksgiving,_ Damien thought to himself, annoyed. _Stupid guards…they probably had a half-shift today because of the holidays…stupid, stupid, Arkam security. Don't they ever learn!?_

Damien kept his thoughts to himself as he sulked in the passenger seat of the Batmobile. Drake was riding tandem with Grayson and Todd was by himself (of course).

" _You'd think they'd know to get rid of all the old chemicals in old pharmacies right away,"_ Grayson said over the communicator. _"This is what, the third time?"_

"Concentrate," Batman growled.

" _I am. We aren't there, yet."_

"How did you ever stay Robin with that big mouth of yours?" snapped Damien. He wasn't feeling particularly kind at the moment.

" _I was training the big guy for The Flash,"_ said Grayson without a beat. _"So Bats wouldn't kill him after only the second mission together."_

Drake laughed.

" _You're more annoying than The Flash, Nightwing,"_ said Todd. He had grudgingly accepted a communicator for the night and didn't seem too upset to be included in the conversation.

" _I disagree."_

" _Of course you do."_

"Quiet," growled Batman. "Coordinates ahead. Robin, Nightwing, roofs." Damien hit the release for the roof and climbed up while Nightwing just went ahead and jumped off his motorcycle – trusting Red Robin to take over without a hitch. (He did. But he wasn't too happy about it.)

Damien checked his watch. They'd already been out for almost thirty minutes. The potatoes would already be cold and the stuffing all congealed.

 _I don't want to be doing this._ Damien thought suddenly. _I want…_

But he had caught sight of Scarecrow through a gap in the boards on the window of the target building and his anger boiled over.

* * *

"All…I…Wanted." Damien said, punctuating each word with a punch to Crane's face. "Was…to…have…a…nice…dinner…with…my…family!"

Nightwing looked up hesitantly to meet Batman's face. Batman was, of course, as stoic as ever, and he couldn't tell anything under Jason's mask. But Tim was visibly surprised.

Damien had launched himself through the window without any warning and Nightwing had swooped in to help with wrestling the half-finished vial of what was _probably_ Fear Toxin out of the villain's hand. But by the time the other three showed up Damien already had Crane on the ground and was punching the living shit out of him.

Damien gave Crane once last good kick – it was unnecessary, the man was already unconscious – and then stepped back, breathing hard.

"Dami?" said Nightwing softly.

Damien went over to the window and looked outside, his back to the rest of the group. Tim prudently handcuffed Crane to the table.

"Robin," said Bruce in a surprisingly kind voice. One Dick was pretty sure he had never heard Bruce use while wearing the Batman mask. "What's going on?"

Damien reached inside of his uniform and pulled out a magazine clipping that had been folded and refolded so many times that it was practically falling apart at the creases. "When I was really little," he said, "Mom took me to a big American city…I can't even remember which anymore…around Thanksgiving. We passed through a neighborhood and I could see through the windows…and there were families sitting down to have dinner. I grabbed a magazine when she wasn't looking…" He extended the photo behind his back, still not turning and Dick stepped forward to grab it.

A happy family – mom, dad, a couple of bright eyed kids and two sets of grandparents – sitting down to a perfect Thanksgiving dinner.

"It's dumb," declared Damien.

"No, its not," said Dick softly. His thanksgivings had been different, on tables made from planks and barrels with the entire circus pitching in to make the essentials. Some impromptu juggling with the champagne halfway through. When had he and Bruce stopped having Thanksgiving? Had it been after Jason? No, he could remember one, just one, with Tim. So many times their lives got hijacked by being Batman and Nightwing and Robin. Certainly there had been no Thanksgiving last year, when Damien had been brand new.

Bruce joined Damien at the window, not looking at him and said (to everyone's surprise), "I _hated_ Thanksgiving as a kid."

Damien looked up at Bruce, his eyes wide, and Tim exchanged a confused look with Dick. They got stories about Bruce as a kid _very_ rarely.

"Thanksgiving usually meant that my mother and father would invite several people of note to the House," Bruce continued. "I'd have to dress up in my finest and stand by the door to greet people as they came in. Sometimes, I would feel very grown-up, standing by my father. Most of the time, I remember thinking that I just wanted to play football outside like the other kids."

Almost as if he couldn't help himself, Jason had drawn closer to the others, Damien was looking up at Bruce, unblinking.

"One day," Bruce continued. "My father got an emergency call a few minutes before dinner was supposed to start. By the time he got back, all the guests had left. Neither mother nor I had eaten much – just enough so that I wouldn't be dying of hunger. Just the three of us had Thanksgiving dinner. It was the best Thanksgiving I ever had with them." Bruce finally looked down at his young son and smiled behind his mask, "Thanksgiving doesn't need to be normal to be good, Damien."

Dick's stomach chose that exact moment to growl and his cheeks flushed as everyone else looked at him. Jason laughed. "Nightwing's stomach agrees."

"I'm sure that Alfred would have figured out some way to keep the food warm," Bruce told everyone, although his eyes were still looking into Damien's.

"The turkey will be dry-" Damien began.

"Alfred has a lot of practice keeping food warm for us," Tim interrupted.

"But there aren't enough ovens in the kitchen," Damien said flatly.

"It will do," said Bruce with finality.

Damien considered this for a moment, and suddenly shocked everyone with a smile. "Yes, it will." Then the moment was broken as he launched himself through the window and announced, "I'm taking your bike, Hood!"

Jason let out an incoherent noise of protest and the entire ensemble raised outside. (Batman brought along Crane. They left him gagged and handcuffed in the hands of a very relieved Sergeant Briggs back at the precinct.)

* * *

Damien found himself grinning broadly when they finally made it back to the dining room to find that Pennyworth had hooked up an elaborate system of lamps, heating plates, and (of all things) hair dryers to keep all the food warm.

"Ah, young master," said Pennyworth, smiling. "I do believe everything is the perfect temperature."

Stepping over one of the many extension cords, Damien said, "I do believe you're right."

Half the turkey was gone, the mashed potatoes and gravy and cranberries a thing of the past. The cornbread had been mostly consumed – some had been used in an impromptu food battle between Todd and Drake. But Todd had been _laughing_ which had been so disarming the Drake had gotten a face-full of cornbread before he realized he should defend himself.

Grayson had somehow ended up swinging from a chandelier until Pennyworth had yelled at him and Father had drank almost an entire bottle of "adult cider" and had small red spots high on his cheekbones.

Damien thought he'd never been happier in his entire life.

 _I'm thankful for my family._ Damien Wayne sent the thought like a prayer into the world as Pennyworth tried to convince the three older boys to stay the night. Grayson and Drake agree without too much prompting. Todd refused, but gave everyone a small smile as he left through the front door (as opposed to a window).

Bruce Wayne put a hand on Damien's shoulder. He said softly, "Thank you."

And Damien's heart soared.


End file.
